


Believe in Harry

by binz, shiplizard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate parent - Fusion, Crossover, Dead mother swap, Found Families, Gen, Or pointy-nosed self-loathing pedant swap, We've replaced this unhealthy crush with folgers crystals by which we mean another unhealthy crush, Which ever way you shake it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last years of the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a brilliant young witch named Lily Evans formed the crack fighting team known as the Witches of Crystal Lodge, made up of miscreants, misfits, and magical beings. When Lily and her husband James died that fateful night in 1981, it was her loyal Crystal Lodgers and not the Dursleys who were given her young son to raise. (Or 'given'. If you don't ask the immensely powerful jinn about the nighttime rescue and the memory charm we won't either.) </p><p>This is not quite the story of the Witches of Crystal Lodge: it's a story about their beloved Harry, trying to fit in at Hogwarts when he feels like he'll never fill his mother's shoes. </p><p>They may be a bit unusual, but they're a family. That's why the wizarding world should believe in Madame Garnet, Miss Emily Amethyst, and the Eternal Pearl. </p><p>And Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 'What if we replace Snape with Pearl,' I asked myself one day, and then binz helped me make that into a story.

DAILY PROPHET SPECIAL EDITION: ONE YEAR LATER

The wizarding world is in a state of celebration today! One year ago today saw the definitive defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in a shocking final confrontation. The Daily Prophet pauses amidst the jubilation: this not-to-be-missed issue will be a moment of reflection on the heroes of that war, and a journey to unravel the mystery of the Boy Who Lived.

 

MONSTERS AND MISFITS TO RAISE BOY WHO LIVED? _an expose by Waldo Freiman_

Less than a month ago, this very publication broke the story that the Boy Who Lived had not been left with his Muggle relations as was rumoured. Harry Potter was instead placed in the care of the Witches of Crystal Lodge. A crack fighting unit distinguished in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, these women are fit to fight any Death Eater. But this reporter cannot help but wonder if the young savior of the wizarding world would be better off in the care of a more traditional family.

Professor Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts' school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had this to say:

"Lily formed the Crystal Lodge group of her most trusted, capable companions. I have no doubt that she would have agreed that they should raise her son."

But, reader, when asked if it was true that he had initially planned to entrust the child to Petunia Dursley, Lily's own sister, and furthermore that a rogue Crystal Lodger had snatched the infant and placed the Dursley family under obliviate, Dumbledore simply offered our reporter a boiled sweet.

“I’m thinking of offering a professorship to Madame Eternal Pearl. It would do young Mister Potter good to have the protection of Hogwarts, don’t you think?”

We went ourselves to look in on the new childhood home of the greatest hero of the age.

Upon reaching the Crystal Lodge, a small cottage on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow we were greeted by Lily's former second-in-command. The exotic jinn known as ‘The Eternal Pearl Adorning Heaven's Brow’ was a key figure in several battles against the dark forces, but this unearthly beauty looks out of place in a nursery. We had questions, of course.

Our transcript follows:

Daily Prophet: Miss Heaven's Brow--

The Eternal Pearl: Oh, call me Pearl-- everyone does.

DP: Miss Pearl--

TEP: Close enough.

DP: Miss Pearl, you fought beside Lily Potter in the wizarding war.

TEP: That's right! Lily Evans at the beginning, of course. One of the greatest human Witches of the age. She recruited me from the Gringotts’ archives herself. She had such vision.

DP: And what about James Potter? What did you think of him?

TEP: James was... he was certainly a functional human. Very bipedal. Yes.

DP: I see. So what precisely did you do at Gringotts?

TEP: Appraisal, mostly. Translation. Accounting on their very oldest records. I keep things neat. But when the war started, I wanted to help so badly-- the Ministry wouldn't have me. I sent owl after owl. Thank goodness someone sent my name to Lily.

DP: Do you think an archivist has the skills to raise a human child?

TEP: Not right off, no. But as soon as Lily announced that she would be having a baby I began intensive research into human child rearing. It's fascinating! I had no idea that you lost your teeth, poor things. I thought I would be able to help with the baby. _(Here, our interviewee paused, a look of ageless sadness passing across her face.)_ Of course, that was when I thought Lily would be raising him. I had no idea...

DP: Do you think Lily would have wanted her only son here, in the headquarters of a fighting unit?

TEP: Yes. Well, of course. She asked us, when he was born-- if anything happened to her, that we had to take care of Harry. Of course we would. I mean, who else would? Her awful sister? Her husband’s ridiculous friends? He’s much better off with us. Oh, he’s such a sweet baby-- he’s asleep right now, if you’re quiet you can see him. Don’t disturb his nap-- it’s vitally important that human children are allowed to sleep in their formative years. Oh, look at him. He’s so round and pink. He’s so perfect, don’t you think?

DP: Very nice, but-

TEP: I just watch him, from time to time, to make sure he’s still breathing. Your species is so terribly fragile. I couldn’t stand to lose him, too, not after-

DP: Yes, speaking of the Potters!

TEP: Were we?

DP: Yes! You mentioned James Potter specifically, and his boyhood friends. Wasn't it those friends who were the downfall of the family? How do you feel about that?

TEP: I still find it so hard to believe. Sirius Black was such an irresponsible cad, but I can't believe that he'd hurt James and Lily. He adored them.

DP: Do you think the Potters should have chosen another secret keeper?

TEP: Well-- no. No, I think they made the best choice they could. I wanted to do it for Lily, I really did, but it had to be a human. Sirius was a very... adequate available human.

DP: But that choice led to their death. Don't you feel as if you're a bit responsible?

TEP: I can't help what I am.

DP: But if Lily's best friend had been a human, mightn't the Potters still be alive?

Our transcript ends here, because before she could respond, dear reader, our interview was interrupted by another Crystal Lodger. We recognized her at once as Emily Amethyst, a portly but sturdy young combat witch. We kept our Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready, poised to hear what words of wisdom this classmate of Lily and James Potter had to share with us: instead, we were shocked at her harsh reception of our reporter.

"Bunch of vultures, that's what you are!" howled an irate Miss Amethyst. "Come around one year to the day as if we aren't having a hard enough time. What've you said to Pearl, look at the state of her. And her trying so hard to keep a brave face."

Our well-read reporter tried to ask Miss Amethyst if her influence-- she being, as our readers will remember, the child of two generations of Squibs -- might have some sort of effect on the young Mister Potter. We wanted to know if she thought her presence might hurt the development of his magic, but instead of being given an answer to this highly relevant question, we were rudely shown the door.

Not to be deterred, we circled back to the garden of the Crystal Lodge to find the last two members of the infamous fighting five. We stopped amidst the squashes as we saw them; a menacing and ghostly figure hovering over a distinguished if diminutive witch, watching as she cast a weeding charm. Did that supposedly benign banshee predict the death of even dandelions? It was a sight to chill the blood, but our intrepid reporter would let nothing stand in the way of the truth.

For those unfamiliar with her story, Rue Carmine was once an acclaimed Auror, a disciple of Alastor Moody himself. She might have been one of the greats, in time, but perhaps she took her mentor’s creed of ‘constant vigilance’ too far when she accepted a dangerous mission to infiltrate the inhuman allies of the Dark Lord. No mere polyjuice potion could have provided the disguise needed to infiltrate the ranks of the undead: no, Madame Carmine allowed herself to be possessed by a banshee, a dubious ally of the forces of light. She spent the last years of the war in this state, emerging… dare we say it? Changed.

Today, witch and spirit seem drawn together by some dread force, never separated, and Miss Carmine chose an ouster from the ranks of the Aurors rather than separate herself from her spectral chum.

True that several decisive victories would have been impossible without Miss Carmine's help, but at what cost? What terrible compulsion bound these two beings together? It was as we considered this question that the shade herself addressed us.

[Unknown]: _Love._

Daily Prophet: What?

[Unknown]: _You were about to ask what terrible compulsion bound Rue and I together. Love._

Rue Carmine: You were about to ask what? Push off.

DP: Please answer questions after they're asked, you-- Miss--

[Unknown]: _To hear my name would deafen you and leave you weeping every night unto the end of your days._

[Unknown]: _You may call me Sappho. No relation._

DP: _(Here, reader, we paused for but a moment, gathering our thoughts. We could sense that this wily wraith would test our very instincts as a reporter.)_

DP: So, madame, would call yourself an ally of the Crystal Lodge?

‘Sappho’: _I would call myself a member._

DP: An odd choice, madame! It's difficult to believe a banshee has the best interests of the wizarding world at heart.

S: _My allegiance is with the memory of Lily Potter. It has not flagged since I swore my aid to her. You question this on today of all days?_

DP: Many have asked why, with your incredible clairvoyant abilities, you chose not to warn the Potters of their final hours.

S: _I see the branching paths of fate, the course that chance may trace along them. Little is certain. It was no choice of mine; by the time the end was clear, it was too late._

DP: But if you had cared, mightn't you have--

RC: Listen, you git, don't you talk to her about not caring. You didn't see the state of her that night, trying to figure out what the danger she sensed was. You have no idea how hard she tried to stop what happened-- how hard Lily's death hit her.

DP: And you, Miss Carmine, do you think you're of sound mind and body after your experiences in the war? Haven't you considered that you might be ... compromised?

RC: Compromised? Compromised? If I was ever compromised it was by your rag's reporting! Daring undercover witch, you said, while I was still embedded in a regiment of ghouls. Do you know how Voldemort tested us to see if we were human or not? Have you ever been under Cruciatus, you wet behind the ears puppy? If Sapphy hadn't been able to shield me, I'd have been caught that night!

DP: But why linger on old topics! Now that the war is over, don't you wish to return to a normal life? To start a family?

RC: I have started a family. This one. And this war isn't over, any fool can see that until we're willing to hold the old families to account--

S: _Dawn broke suddenly, but as day follows night, night follows day. The wizarding world would be foolish to forget the threat of Voldemort._

DP: But if the threat is gone, what will you do, madame? Will you return to the night?

S: _I thought I might get a job at Azkaban. Ha, ha: a joke. I'm certain that the current wardens of that dark place are perfectly safe and will never turn against their masters._

DP: What would you say to concerned citizens who think that you're a danger to common folk?

S: _I can see the beginning and the end of things. I can see the end of this interview; it is sudden and violent, like a summer storm._

RC: Call a hero of the war a 'danger', will you? Insult my Sapphy? I've had enough of this. Whatever you're writing you finish it up on the other side of the fence. Come here, you young miscreant, I’ll toss you over myself--

 

And thus, loyal reader, ended the interview. We can only hope that Dumbledore's trust in this band of outcasts and monsters is not unfounded-- wait, and hope for the safety of the Boy Who Lived.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's first full day at Hogwarts is going all right, but he's only made it through breakfast so far. Yesterday's a bit of a blur. First there was the Apparition with Aunt A to London and then the train ride back, where he'd met Ron Weasley, and a know-it-all Muggleborn girl named Hermione who reminded him more than a bit of his Aunt P. And then there'd been the cold, wet trip across the lake, and at least Hagrid had been there, but then there'd been the Great Hall all full up with students and voices and everyone watching him, the Sorting and the opening ceremony. Being part of it, sitting at a table in the Great Hall instead of watching through a peephole had felt much scarier than he had imagined.

He's been sorted Gryffindor, like Aunt Amethyst, like his mother and father-- he thinks that should make him happy. He's mostly scared that he won't live up. He knows his mums are hoping he'll be amazing, like his mother, and he's not sure he's amazing at all. He hadn't even gotten to go see his mums before bed last night, up whispering with the other boys in his year until it was too late and he'd fallen asleep, and now it's been a whole day because he hadn't even seen them at breakfast, and he's not sure what he's supposed to do about that. The other students don't see their parents until they go home, but he already is home, except it's starting to feel like he's not at all.

His first class is with one of his mums, too, and he feels as if he's doing something wrong just by being there. He tries to explain it to his new friend Ron, but Ron actually makes it a bit worse by asking him questions that he's not sure how to answer.

"If your mums are teachers here, why were you on the train?" Ron whispers, as they settle into their desks for Charms. Harry's never been in the Charms classroom before. He's been in all the common rooms and run about the grounds, gone diving in the lake with Aunt A, down to where it's night-dark and cold and the merpeople live. He's been as deep into the library as he's allowed to go, and in and out of the kitchen and the dungeons and all the tall towers and secret passageways, but the classrooms always seemed too large and forbidden. They still do.

He hunches his shoulders. "Aunt P said it was an important ritual for young wizards," he whispers back. "She wants me to have a normal school year."

The other boy wrinkles his nose at him. "There's nothing normal about having your teachers be your parents. I'd be well embarrassed."

"I suppose you think teachers never have children," Hermione Granger snips from behind him. "What are their children meant to do, not go to school?" The thought seems to horrify her.

"They shouldn't! They're teachers," Ron answers, looking horrified. Then a thought strikes him: "At least you're sure to get good grades, Harry! That's brilliant!"

Hermione bristles, puffing up like a cat, but she never gets to say whatever it is she's decided she's right about now, because the door swings open with the tinkle of bells and a gust of heated wind blows into the room.

"Wicked!" Ron says, and gets hissed at, but Hermione is the only one besides Harry who's not talking at the same time.

The wind twirls up into a sand-coloured cyclone, and then solidifies into a slim figure twirling en point. A puff of smoke coils around her head, settling into a perfectly draped white headscarf, and a larger one coils around the form and settles into robes.

Harry ducks his head a little, trying not to squirm, and realizes that nobody's looking at him; they're all staring at the sudden arrival of their teacher.

"It's true," Hermione murmurs, eyes huge. "The professor really is a jinn." More whispers; a burst of laughter from a huddle of Slytherins on the other side of the room. The blond boy from the train-- Malfoy, who'd called Harry's new friends riff-raff-- is smirking from the center of the group, and Harry scowls.

The charms professor flutters her fingers, producing a wand, and taps her throat.

Harry knows that charm; he's got his hands over his ears in an instant.

" **GREETINGS, CHILDREN!** " the professor booms cheerfully. The classroom falls into a stunned silence. Dean Thomas, sitting in the front row, taps his ringing ears as if to make sure they're still working.

She waves her wand, and when she speaks again it's only at the volume of a shout. " **I am Madame Pearl, your charms instructor! Welcome, young witches and wizards. By the time the year is over you will have taken the first step towards mastery of the most delicate art of-- am I interrupting you, young man?** " She turns on her heel, robes floating around her, and with a word and a flick summons a spotlight over Malfoy, mid-conversation with his lacky Crabbe. Crabbe shrinks back out of the light.

Malfoy freezes for a second, and then, with a glance around at the other Slytherins, puffs himself up. "I don't have to listen to you!"

"How fascinating," Madame Pearl says, acidly, dispelling her Sonorus charm with a graceful swirl of her wand. "And how have you come to that conclusion, human boy?" Even without her Sonorus charm, it's easy to hear them both in the breathlessly silent room.

"You're just a servant. Your kind were bound to obey wizards hundreds and hundreds of years ago," he sneers. "It's like learning charms from a house elf!"

Harry realizes that he's on his feet, gripping his wand so hard that his fingers are starting to cramp, and Hermione is tugging at the back of his robe and hissing 'what is wrong with you, what are you doing, don't stand up.'

"Is that so? What is your name, child?"

"Malfoy," Draco says confidently. "Draco Malfoy."

"The son of Lucius Malfoy? And so badly versed in magical history," Madame Pearl tuts. "It is true, children-- once, my kind were the most dangerous of the magical races. A mighty wizard placed a seal on our power to prevent the very destruction of this world-- but many of my powers are still unsealed."

Wind rattles around the classroom, whipping Harry's robes around his shins and almost flattening Hermione's hair. Malfoy is beginning to go distinctly pale.

"But one power especially is left to me, one power you would do well to respect," Madame Pearl says, advancing on Draco. All of his friends have cringed out of the beam of light, leaving him looking left and right for an escape.

"What's that?" he demands, trying to seem lofty, but his voice cracks.

"The power to assign you detention." The wind dies away as suddenly as it came. "And take five points from Slytherin for interrupting your professor."

Someone giggles-- a Slytherin, not one in Malfoy's little group. Then a Gryffindor, then a wave of relieved laughter goes around the room.

"Silence," Madame Pearl demands imperiously, "or it will be five from Gryffindor as well!"

An obedient hush falls, and she sweeps gracefully back to the center of the room.

"Excellent! Now, children-- you will find a feather in the desk in front of you. Take it out. Let us begin with a simple charm to focus your mind and hone your magical balance. You may have seen your parents use this charm, or your older siblings-- you may have used it yourself! But today we will seek to understand it; the flow of the magic, the harmony of the forces that act upon this simple feather-"

Ron groans under his breath. "Oh no. This is rubbish! I don't want to understand the harmony of it, I just want to be able to do it! "

"Shut up," Hermione whispers. "This is brilliant! Look, she's made a force diagram, we're actually going to talk about the physics of things. I'm so excited-- Harry, what's wrong? You're still white as a sheet. Come on, get your feather out."

"I can't believe Draco said that," Harry says. He glares across the classroom at Slytherins, gossiping with each other as they prod at their feathers..

"She shut him up, though, that _was_ brilliant," Ron says.

"I don't care. If he says anything like that about Aunt P again I'll wallop him," Harry says, and grimly retrieves his feather. He sits it on his desk and only half listens to Pearl's lecture, seething.

It takes a while to realize he's being stared at. Everyone within whispering earshot is shooting him odd glances, and Ron is gawping outright, mouth hanging open stupidly.

"What?"

"...'Aunt P'"

"Yeah." Harry blinks. "I told you my mums were teachers here. Just now."

"Yeah, you did, but -- that's your 'Aunt P?'" Ron repeats, still gobsmacked. "Blimey, Harry."

"What?"

"Ignore him," Hermione suggests. "Ronald, don't be rude."

Hermione is acting as if this is all perfectly normal, but Harry can tell that she's surprised too. Ron was right; having his mums be professors is going to be the most embarrassing thing he can imagine.

* * *

 

He makes it through Herbology without saying or doing anything that makes people look at him oddly, and that's a relief. He even impresses Ron by knowing a shortcut down one of the secret passages, and he's feeling less awful about everything right up until Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When they troop into the classroom, Madame Garnet isn't there, and that's when it goes badly. It's not the fault of any of the Hufflepuffs: it's Seamus Finnegan, from Gryffindor, who's been steadily paler since lunch. Dean Thomas prods him about it until it comes out that he's afraid of banshees, which Harry supposes is fair, but once he's started talking about it he won't stop. He's read some old Daily Prophet article about it -- rubbish, that article. He read it once when he was six, cut out the picture of his mums and put the rest on the fire. He didn't think anyone had believed it-- it was so obviously made up, all that nonsense about terrible bonds and squibs, but Seamus has decided it's all true. And what's worse is some of Harry's new housemates keep agreeing with him, cheering him.

"It's awful, is what it is, letting a possessed witch be a teacher,"; Seamus says, and his mates nod, and Harry can't take it any longer.

"She isn't possessed," he snaps.

"You don't know anything about banshees, Potter."

"You don't know anything about her, Finnegan! She's not possessed, she's happy together-- you don't know anything about it!"

"That thing ought to be exorcised and the poor witch put in St. Mungo's. It would be a kindness!"

Harry can't remember meeting 'that thing' and 'the poor witch'. He's seen pictures of them with him as a baby, never further than arm's reach apart from one another, but by the time he was walking they had given up on being apart and settled into being the woman they are together. The idea of his mum not being who she is-- of something awful happening to the two half-smiling women who wave fondly at him from old photographs-- makes him so furious he can barely think.

So it's at that point that he leaps at Seamus, thin arm cocked back to punch him right in his sneering face. He's never been so furious, and he likes Seamus mostly but there's no doubt that he would have punched him if he could have-- but before the blow can land the door slams open and he hears familiar hurried footsteps, and something catches him by the back of the collar. There's a dizzy sensation as he's pulled upward, and everything but Seamus suddenly sinks away below him.

He ought to have known that she would have foreseen their scrap. He's never been able to get away with much of anything, used to the crack of Apparition or the pounding of his mum's feet dashing towards him the moment things go wrong. He goes limp, sheepishly, as he's lifted up to his mum's eye-level, an arm's length away from a frozen Seamus.

Madame Garnet holds the two of them thoughtfully, one in each strong hand, eyeing them with her two brown eyes.

"Five points from Gryffindor," she says. "For fighting. Each of you."

That's ten whole points from Gryffindor, Harry realizes, and sags. "We weren't fighting," he argues weakly.

The milky white third eye on her forehead opens and gives Harry an unconvinced once-over before shutting again.

"You were about to. Bloody noses. Split lips. Unacceptable." Madame Garnet's voice is as flat and uninterested as if she were giving a particularly dull lecture. Not that Harry has ever heard her give a lecture; he's not sure he's ever heard her say more than thirty words at a time. He can tell she's disappointed in him, though, and he wilts further, hanging miserably with his robes digging into his armpits.

"My father says you're an abomination," Seamus squeaks bravely from where he dangles in her other fist.

"Does he?" Garnet purses her full lips. "That's a valid perspective I'll have to take into consideration."

"...really?" Seamus says, surprised half out of his terror.

"No."

She sets them down and gives them a little shove back towards their seats. Harry glares at Seamus, but goes, sitting down with his arms crossed next to Ron. Seamus sits sulking on the other side of Dean, more sullen than frightened now.

Garnet turns a slow circle, taking in the rest of the cowed students. Even the ones that weren't agreeing with Seamus have trouble meeting her gaze, and Harry realizes there must be a difference from knowing about a great hero of the wizarding war and meeting her. She's been there nearly constantly since before he spoke his first word, he's used to the ghostly purple tint to her skin and her being so massive and strong but-- the others aren't. He feels self-conscious all over again. What a stupid thing to think. Of course not everyone's mum is seven foot tall with three eyes. He knew that, only he hadn't ever thought about it before now, and it makes him feel like he's turned purple as well, like everyone can tell how ridiculous he's been.

"My name is Madame Garnet. I already know all of yours." Her third eye opens again. Someone stifles a gasp: Harry can see a muscular Hufflepuff girl clamping her hands over her mouth, and a few of his classmates look very pale. "I can see that we have a rough day ahead of us. The path of fate is bending towards hardship; it traces a long road upon which none of you can concentrate and I have to assign six inches of homework."

A last long look at each of them, and her third eye closes. She retrieves her wand, smacking it into her palm. "Accio visor-!"

A strip of smoked glass like the inner bit of a Muggle welder's mask shoots toward her from her desk, and she catches it without looking. Harry can hear the soft sighs of relief as she fastens it over her face, hiding all three eyes. He doesn't like the visor. It makes her look distant and a bit scary, not at all like someone he used to play hide and seek with out in the greenhouses.

"Try to surprise me, children," says Madame Garnet, resignedly.

"So, that's Aunt G?" Ron asks in a whisper, but it really isn't a question.

"Of course," Harry says.

"Of course," Ron echoes.

* * *

 

By the time they all troop in for dinner, the Great Hall is dark; the illusion of the sky on the ceiling is full of stars. Aunt P taught him to name most of them. Aunt P even put a smaller version of this charm on his bed back at the Crystal Lodge. It should feel cozy, but it feels dark and cold instead, all the candles hanging in the air casting shadows over everyone.

Despite his fears, conversation around the Gryffindor table isn't all about how odd he is-- it seems there's lots to talk about besides his scar and his parents and the fight in DADA, and all the gossip about Charms is mostly about how it served Draco right for mouthing off to a professor instead of about what sort of being the professor was. It still isn't easy. Hermione is trying to help by elbowing people and hissing 'don't be rude' every time they ask anything about Pearl or Garnet, but it only makes him feel more alone, and he finally moves away from everyone to sit at the end of the table next to Neville Longbottom.

Neville hasn't said a word all evening-- looks a bit queasy-- and Harry is selfishly glad, because he doesn't much want to talk either. He keeps looking up to the teacher's table, but he can't catch a glance of any of his mums. They used to all eat together in their rooms-- well, Harry and Aunt A did, sometimes Garnet too, but Pearl would watch approvingly. He thinks they must be in there now, all around the little dining table, and he feels lost and sick and sad and sullen.

A shuffling sound makes him look up from the roast chicken he's picking to bits, to see Seamus Finnegan being prodded toward him by George and Fred Weasley.

"Right, now," says Fred (or George). "Say it."

"M'sorry I called your mum an abomination," Seamus mutters.

"We've explained how she's brilliant," George (or Fred) says with a solemn nod. "She's the funniest teacher at Hogwarts."

"All comedy is derived from fear, she says. And she's the first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who's made it more than five years since Bill was a student," Fred (or George) adds.

"When Ron told us about meeting you we were a bit disappointed you'd only got the two eyes-"

"-but we're sure you'll make it up somehow-"

"-and we won't hear a word against Madame G."

"So you don't have to fight for her, because we'll defend her honour."

"And we're much better at not being caught."

Harry prods his chicken around his plate and tries to smile. "Thanks. Seamus, I'm sorry I tried to hit you."

Seamus mumbles and looks longingly back up the table to where the rest of the Gryffindors are talking and eating together.

"Yeah. Thanks," Harry says, and stares down his food some more until they leave, trying to find his appetite again. His stomach is in a tight knot that seems to winch a bit tighter every time he looks back up the table. "Do you want any of this?" Neville shakes his head, lips tight. Harry thinks he must be as disappointed by Harry as the rest of the house seems to be-- the Boy who Lived turning out to be not so heroic, with three odd mums and only one a proper witch, like the whispers say. Resentment boils up on instinct: Aunt P and Aunt G are proper witches, no matter what anyone says, and he's not going to pretend they aren't just so he can make friends.

He surges to his feet, the sight of his food suddenly too much to take. Neville calls his name as he walks away, but he ignores it, hurrying out of the dining room and up the shifting stairs and down the narrow corridor to the portrait of the lady holding an ermine.

He's spent every school year in these rooms, and some of the summers, but now that he's a student it feels like he shouldn't be here. His lip juts out, and the ermine lady says: "Chin up, Harry. How was your first day of school?"

"Awful," he blurts out, scrubbing tears out from under his glasses as the ermine twitches its nose at him sympathetically.

"It's all right, dear. Most children feel that way. Why, when your aunt A was a student here, she spent her first week hiding down this corridor and having a bit of a cry. That's how she met your mother, you know-- Lily chose the same corridor to hide in. She'd gotten in a dreadful row with that Sirius Black boy."

"Really?" he can't imagine Aunt A hiding from anything. He can't imagine Lily Evans at all-- she's just sort of a wonderful memory his mums have, a lovely, talented young witch, distant as a figure in stained glass. From the way Pearl talks about her, misty and perfect, he thought she must have made friends straight off, fit in right away.

"Really. It's a tradition stretching back generations, the first week shakes. You'll be all right," she soothes. "Coming in?"

Harry nods. "Trigonal trapezohedron," he says firmly, and the ermine lady beams at him and swings aside.

He steps into the quiet parlor of his mums' rooms. His parents aren't sitting around the fire-- they must be in the kitchen, because he can hear their voices. The kitchen is where they go to have serious conversations because Aunt Pearl believes that tea is a slightly magical substance that helps humans remain polite, so she demands it for every discussion with Aunt Amethyst. No matter how often it doesn't work.

Harry's about to call out when he hears his name, and he pauses.

"--getting in fights?" Pearl sounds aghast. "What would Lily say?"

"She'd understand, Pearl," Garnet says, still very calm.

"Understand? This is our fault, we should have taught him better conflict resolution--"

"He's a human child, Pearl. They fight," Garnet soothes. "It's how they learn."

"Yeah, P. The other kids are gonna be well jealous of him; he's got that wicked scar and the finest family in Britain. He'll have to chin a few twits--"

"Amethyst!" Pearl squawks, outraged. "Our sweet little boy shouldn't be chinning anyone! Except the Dark Forces once he's old enough-- and a trained combat wizard, of course."

"S'not that serious, Pearl."

"How can you say that? Oh, Garnet, have we made a mistake? I hate not knowing where he is all the time-- we should have asked for him to stay in his rooms here, not sleep up in that common room. Small human children are vectors for disease, after all, what if he becomes sick?"

"Then he'll get sick, and he'll go to the infirmary, and he'll get well again. Some things are inevitable."

"But--"

"P, stop whinging about it." There's the clatter of a tea-cup being set down with force. "You're his teacher, you can make sure he's all right. They won't even let me teach, and I'm the best at transfigurations there is."

"There's a difference between being brilliant and being able to teach," Pearl sniffs. "Your idea of a lesson plan is 'Let's squash this thing into that thing,' can you imagine? Why would you even want to teach? You never have before."

"Because at least you guys get to see him during the day! He can't come out and help Hagrid and me with the groundskeeping now that he's a first year, how do you think I feel? I'm barely going to get to see him all year, now."

Pearl's voice is contrite. "Amethyst, I didn't realize--"

"Of course you didn't. You're too busy worrying about perfect Lily thinking you're a bad mum to bother about anyone who's still al--"

Harry shrinks back a step, and then clears his throat. "Hello! I'm back! I've come to say goodnight!"

The voices in the kitchen stop.

"Oi, there's our mini-wizard!" the kitchen door swings wide, spilling out firelight and his parents, Aunt Amethyst barreling out to give him a hug. He lets himself sink into the firm embrace, hiding his face in her wild blond hair for as long as he can.

"H'lo, Harry," Garnet says, once Amethyst has let him go. She stoops, bending almost in half to kiss him on the forehead, and then Pearl sinks to a knee beside him to give him a tight hug of her own.

There are grains of sand at the corner of her eye; Harry realizes with a horrible lurch that the jinn has been crying. And it's his fault. She's beaming at him now, though, tutting over his hair as desert wind tugs his robes back into order and re-settles his glasses.

"So? How was your day?" she asks.

Harry swallows. "Fine. I made a new friend. His name's Ron."

"One of the Weasleys," Garnet says approvingly. "I like them. They've got their heads on right."

"...You mean like those twins who hexed all the drawers in the Charms classroom shut?" Pearl mutters, shooting her a dubious look.

"And Percy," Garnet says innocently.

"Oh, Percy! What a studious young man. I hope his brother's more like him."

"Or he could be like Charlie, top dragon tamer," Amethyst puts in. "Aim high, P."

"No dragons!"

"No dragons, Aunt P, I promise," Harry says, a little overwhelmed.

"Of course." Pearl sweeps a few more grains of sand out of her eye. "We're all very proud of you, Harry."

He looks down at his feet, not sure if he should say that he heard them talking about the fight. "I, ah--"

"And Lily and... James... would be very proud of you, too." Pearl always says his father's name like it tastes sour, and even though she's trying to be reassuring he can hear it. He still wishes he believed it-- he feels like he's let everyone down.

Long, slim fingers find his chin and tip his face up. "Very proud, Harry," Pearl repeats, very seriously. Her lip is wobbling a bit.

"Thanks, Aunt P," he says, and realizes with horror that his throat is getting tight and he's about to cry. "I have to get back to the common room now--"

"But we've got tea--"

"Let him go," Garnet murmurs, a hand on her shoulder. Her third eye is open-- she can probably see him crying, he realizes miserably, not very far in the future at all. "Have a good night, Harry."

He stammers a goodbye and flees, running without a pause until he's in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady and gasping out the Gryffindor password.

There's a moment of horror when he realizes that what seems like all of his new housemates are assembled in the common room, and they're staring at him, but it's Neville Longbottom who breaks the silence with a resolute "Hello, Harry. We're going over our potions homework. D'you want to too?"

"Yes-- I have to go get my books," he says, and scurries into the boy's dormitory to press his face into a pillow and breathe hard for several long minutes before he feels like he can face them again.

Nobody looks up this time, though Hermione and Ron scoot aside to make a spot between them on a giant, overstuffed couch, and Neville leans over to ask if he remembers what a Bezoar is for. He doesn't. Hermione does, of course, and launches into an explanation the reminds him of Pearl even as he's slowly slumping against Ron and feeling his eyes glaze over, warm and tired now in the heat of the great roaring fire.

Everyone seems to have forgotten about the fight with Seamus, even Seamus, and they just go on as if this is all normal, passing around Bertie Botts and talking about their assignment.

 

That night, he lies flat on his back in his curtained bed, staring at a canopy that's too far away and doesn't have the constellations charmed onto it. He can hear Ron in the next bed over, tossing and turning.

"Ron," he whispers. "Are you all right?"

"I think the twins put an itching charm on my sheets," Ron whispers back.

"Let me see," he hisses, and crawls out of bed. Ron parts the curtain to let him in. As soon as his knees touch the sheets, he feels a familiar crawling feeling-- it's one of Amethyst's favourite pranks, although she usually casts it on Pearl. But Pearl never notices and it's always Harry who winds up itching frantically after a hug, so he's known the counter-charm since he was six.

It feels odd with his own wand; he's always had to borrow Amethyst's or Garnet's, and it takes him three tries to get it right. Ron looks impressed anyway, and claps him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Thanks, Ron."

There's a long pause, and then Ron whispers: "I'd have punched Seamus if he said that about my mum, too. Nobody blames you."

"Your mum isn't a banshee and her best friend."

"No, but I still would have punched him." Ron sits with his knees pulled up to his chin for a while. "I miss my mum."

Ron is maybe the most normal person he's ever met, and Harry feels a tiny bit better that he's homesick as well.

"Me, too."

"Couldn't you just go see them?"

"It's not the same, now they're my teachers. Except Amethyst. But Amethyst is more like your brothers than anything most times."

Ron laughs at that. It's a bit watery.

The curtains part, suddenly, and a ginger head pokes in.

"Ronald! Potter! It's lights out, in your own beds and no chatting."

"Aw, c'mon, Percy--"

"I was helping Ron with--"

"No excuses," the prefect says, and glares at Harry until he retreats to his own bed. He waits until he hears Percy moving away, and peeks back out. Ron does, too, a sliver of pale face through the crack of his bed curtains-- he rolls his eyes hugely at Harry, and grins lopsidedly. Harry smiles back, and waves to him before closing the curtains and settling in to try to sleep again.

He can hear the angry whispers as Percy breaks up more conversations. It's strangely nice to know that other boys get homesick and cause trouble, too. Outside of his family, everyone has always tried to make him out to be special, or odd-- because of his scar, because of his mother and father, because of his mums. But Ron doesn't seem to think he's too odd.

Maybe this year will be normal after all. Maybe he'll be normal. Maybe it will all be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And even now a half-giant herbologist named Rose is breaking Snape's heart by choosing an American muggle musician for her husband, and sometime in the future when an unseen enemy takes her away that same American muggle musician will drag Snape back out of a bottle of firewhiskey because loving the same woman should make them stronger, not more fragile. In the distant age of 2013, a quarter-giant boy with untameable hair will arrive at Hogwarts, already able to brew half the potions textbook and also tune an antique Fender guitar, trying to convince the prefects that 'a cat, owl, or toad' should include his giant rose-pink dimensionally transcendental lion. 
> 
> And Harry will ruffle his hair and tell him that he's going to do just fine.


End file.
